


The Obituary of One Good Woman

by I_Got_Lost



Series: Re-Adapting the Plan [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (TV)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hydra (Marvel), Interlude, Ollie Bakker needs a drink, Red Room (Marvel), Time stone is still a bitch, geist - Freeform, hand-wavy science, kid!Natasha, superpowered annoyances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Got_Lost/pseuds/I_Got_Lost
Summary: As Peggy Carter picked up the pieces Steve Rodgers and Bucky Barnes left behind, Ollie Bakker woke up in the bottom of a ravine in the Alps and held onto the hope that someone would come save her. It was a hope she held onto even as she realized Hydra wasn't dead and that there were weapons being made out of little girls. Steve and Bucky may have managed to get the short cut into the future, but Ollie was forced to take the slow road, saving as many as she could in the meantime.Hopefully Steve and Bucky wouldn't oversleep.Warnings: This will not be a nice fic and specific warnings will be on each chapter





	1. Ghosts Cannot Die

**Author's Note:**

> ****NOTICE: This story is taking place alongside _The Eulogy of a Few Good Men _from the perspective of my O/C Ollie Bakker. This will not make sense without first reading _If I Cannot Bend Heaven _. Events from this story will help explain later interactions between characters but is not spoilers for anything.****____  
>  As always, have fun, enjoy, and please don't shoot me.  
> No, seriously, please don't shoot me for this one.  
> Warnings:  
> -hallucinations  
> -low self-esteem

Olivia Devera Maria Bakker did not die quickly.

She died in bits and pieces.

The first time she died was when John Davis put his lips on her neck and Ollie had to remind herself that saying no meant; little Joseph Muller would be forced to put the next wildflower on her grave rather then her nightstand.

The second time she died was when the monster strapped her to the table and put hellfire in her veins.

The third time she died was when Bucky was dragged away from her in that camp and she realized no matter how much she sacrificed, it wasn’t going to be enough. It was never going to be enough.

The fourth time she died was when her hand slipped, and the guard rail snapped. She died watching Steve scream from inside the train, and seeing Bucky instinctively follow her fall with his rifle. Her death took five seconds, and in five seconds, all she could think was that at least Bucky didn’t fall.

At least Steve, punk ass, little death-defying Steve, wasn’t going to be alone.

And then she closed her eyes, hoping that the fifth and final time she died would be from Bucky’s rifle.

...***...

And then she hit ground.

…***…

Fate had a sick sense of irony, Ollie mused, her thoughts sluggish from a mixture of agony and ice. The snow was falling gently and had Ollie been of the mind to notice, she probably would have been staring at the postcard worthy scenery. She had always wanted to travel but leaving Steve and Bucky hadn't been an option. So, in someways it was fitting that her first time abroad since the New York Incident brought her head first into a war, and feet first into a slowly freezing river.

Yes, fate had a sick sense of irony. How many times had she sat in the corridor of the hospital and heard that keeping Steve alive was going to cost an arm and a leg.

The rocks had taken the arm, and from the numbness spreading up her joints, Ollie rather thought the ice would take her leg as well. Her vision dancing, Ollie could barely see how the river water pooling around her legs and waist swept the bloodied clumps of snow away from her body. But, what she could see under her torn up coat, on the arm that wasn’t a bloodied mess, the numbers the monster had inked into her skin remained.

Ollie had fallen onto stone and ice and the gods had deemed that she would lose an arm for the safety of those speeding away overhead.

The gods had made her keep her numbers.

For the first time since Sarah Rogers had died, Ollie let herself cry.

She was alone, in pain, and so, so tired.

This was worse then the hellfire.

This was worse then the monthly cramps.

And Ollie was alone.

And so, the sixth time Ollie died was the moment her screams echoed off the mountains as she lay broken in a river, realizing Bucky hadn’t given her mercy.

…***…

Sarah had once told her, her hands steady as she stitched up Ollie’s leg, that it almost seemed like Ollie had a death wish. At the time, Ollie had laughed and said, _why have a death wish when I have Steve? _Sarah hadn’t liked that answer and Ollie’s knuckles had stung for days after the wooden spoon had come down with the wrath of an angry mother.__

__Now, after what felt like a lifetime, Ollie looked up into the sky as pain washed through her veins, and finally found the strength to admit that yes, she had a death wish. It was called keeping Steve and Bucky alive. She couldn’t find it in herself to regret the decision, because Ollie was a ghost and it wasn’t like ghosts existed anyway._ _

__Ollie was already dead, she just hadn’t realized it._ _

__…***…_ _

__Ollie couldn’t feel the way Leo’s fingers ran through her hair, or the heat from his knuckles when he wiped away her tears. She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel her brother’s hand and that made her cry harder._ _

__“Leo,” she hated the way her voice wobbled, a gasping breath that sounded far too much like Sarah in her last few days. “Leo, I want to go home.”_ _

__“Leo, please. Please, let me come home.” She begged shamelessly. There was no answer as the show began to pile up around Ollie and she absently noticed that she stopped shivering sometime ago. Her tears were searing into her skin and her lips cracked with every word, but Ollie did her best to throw out her hand towards her brother, gasping in pain when she fell short, her wrist cracking against a rock._ _

__Ollie had spent a decade sleeping on a mattress that wasn’t hers and living off the scraps of a family that wouldn’t give her their name. Ollie had shot, killed, bled, and begged for her chosen family to live through this hell._ _

__Ollie had lied for Steve and Bucky._ _

__Ollie had let herself be destroyed._ _

__Ollie wanted to go home._ _

__She just wanted to go home._ _

__Leo didn’t respond and she eventually closed her eyes to the image of Leo carding his fingers though her hair with that disappointed smile he had always seemed to carry before he had left for New York._ _

__…***…_ _

__There was snow and there was blood, and at some point, the biting cold became a burning kind of warmth. Seconds might have passed, or minutes. Maybe even hours. Ollie had screamed until Leo had wandered away, his footsteps not making a sound on the snow. Then the sobs caught in her throat and Ollie stared up at the sky dry-eyed and tired._ _

__Was it such a bad thing to want to go to sleep?_ _

__Was it such a bad thing not to want to wake up?_ _

__…***…_ _

__Ollie didn’t have enough energy to scream when something prodded her good shoulder, instead she fought to open her eyes and tilt her head towards the figure, a pained groan falling from her mouth. There was an unintelligible shout and Ollie stopped paying attention to what was going on around her._ _

__She was dead and this was hell, and her Oma had been wrong. Hell wasn’t warm, it was as cold as ice._ _

__Ollie gave a low chuckle, holding in the pained gasp when a bolt of lightening dropped down her spine. She was dead and she wasn’t even allowed to visit her family while she waited for everyone else to catch up._ _

__Ollie had been abandoned._ _

__Whoever was above her, shouted something again, and dropped down onto their knees. Between the spots in her vision and the blur of the snow on her face, Ollie could barely make out a grin spreading over the face of a middle-aged man. Ollie frowned in annoyance, this was not what she had pictured as an angel to carry her from hell. This wasn’t even what she had pictured a demon to look like to lure her further into the frozen pits._ _

__And then the man picked her up._ _

__Oblivion was a blessing._ _


	2. Klap Eens In Je Handjes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back!  
> Warnings:  
> -screaming  
> Sorry, not sure how to tang this one other then 'not nice'.

Ollie woke up screaming. Her throat was raw, the back of her teeth tasted of copper, and her fingers scrambled uselessly against the steel under her fingers. Panicked, her head thumped against the table and with every twitch, every breath, the sensation of pins and nettles jabbing into her skin heightened.

She needed to breathe.

She needed to move.

She needed to think.

She needed to stop screaming.

Clenching her teeth hard enough her jaw ached, Ollie struggled to drag in another breath. She was no use to anyone if she kept screaming. Hell, she was no use to anyone if she passed out due to oxygen deprivation, taking care of Steve had taught her at least that much. But, the screams pressed against the back of her teeth and the blood made her choke. She needed to breathe. Ollie needed to breathe.

"Sarah?" Ollie whimpered, her fingers splaying across the cold steel. "Sarah, I'm sorry." She hauled in a shuddering breath, her jaw barely unlocking enough for her to beg. Sarah had to be in the room, she had never left Steve or Bucky alone when they had landed in the hospital, so it would stand to reason that Sarah wouldn't leave Ollie either. "Sarah, make it _stop_."

All that met Ollie's whimpers was silence.

Surely Sarah wouldn't have left Ollie alone. Sarah had never left Steve alone in the hospital room and she had barely left Bucky alone either, and Bucky wasn't even her child. Besides, Sarah loved her. Sarah loved her.

Didn't she?

" _Please_." Ollie hissed as she twitched on the table, the pain making her limbs jerk involuntarily. "Sarah, please make it _stop_."

...***...

Reality was no different from unconsciousness, Ollie realized dimly as her head head thumped against the steel table. The agony followed her into the black and waking up made the pain that much worse. At least in reality Ollie had the chance to find out what was causing her so much pain, in the black there was no escape, there was nothing to tether her to reality. In the black there was no where to go.

Choking back back a scream, Ollie's spine arched off the table, her bare feet slipping on the steel as she struggled to get away from a pain that radiated from her own bones. Her fingers slipped off the table and just as Ollie managed to find purchase, someone threw themselves down on her legs. Had Ollie not been flailing about attempting to figure out what, exactly, was wrong, she would have been more concerned.

As it was, Ollie could only find it in herself to be concerned about the outside world when someone else placed a hand on her forehead, pressing her harder against the table. Ripping herself fully into awareness, Ollie screamed bloody murder as something touched her bad shoulder.

Oh.

So _that_ was what was causing her to choke and twist on the table.

Spots danced in her vision and she managed to raise her hand up to claw at the bastard that held her head down. Her fingers caught on something fuzzy and she latched onto it with a snarl, yanking the object down into her limited field of vision.

It was a hat.

A red star.

Golden laurel leaves.

A hammer and a sickle.

Two thoughts managed to reach her through the pain. The first was that she had fucking told Peggy that the Russians were the ‘bad guys,’ the second thought was that this was a hell of an introduction to Russia.

So, when she saw the needle coming towards her, all Ollie could do was laugh. Anesthetics didn’t work and Death was probably lurking in the corner of the room. She didn't feel the prick of the needle and Ollie rolled her eyes as the man on her legs yelled something to his companions. Still chuckling, Ollie threw the hat at the bastard on her legs before reaching up and twisting her fingers into claws. Launching herself upwards, Ollie slammed her fingers into soft flesh and pulled down, her laughter turning hysterical as the the man above her screamed.

She wasn't going down without a fight.

The man jostled her shoulder and Ollie collapsed back against the table with another choked off scream. If Death could hurry up the claiming of her soul, she'd greatly appreciate it.

This was going to fucking hurt.

…***…

Klap eens in je handjes,

blij, blij, blij.

Op je boze bolletje,

allebei.

Handjes in de hoogte,

Handjes in je zij.

Zo varen de scheepjes voorbij.

Zo varen de scheepjes voorbij.

Olivia curled around Stick as her Oma tickled her sides, shrieking with laughter, the song dying on her tongue. The cat made a growling meow but didn’t make any further protests as Olivia dodged her way into the middle of the living room, the cat held firmly against her stomach. For some reason, it wasn’t odd that her Oma Rood was the one who was watching her for the day, even though Oma Rood hadn’t been able to watch Olivia alone since Olivia had been a toddler.

“Are you happy, princess?” Oma asked, suddenly peering at Olivia from over the top of her glasses as she tugged a needle through the cloth she was cross stitching.

“Blij, blij, blij.” Olivia giggled as she sang tunelessly in response, twirling around with Stick.

Her Oma frowned as she poked another stitch into the cloth. “Princess, are you happy?” She asked again, stressing the last word with a little hiss.

Olivia shrugged even as Stick yowled and jumped from her arms, biting onto her fingers with a snarl. Startled, Olivia fell back onto the floor and watched in horror as the cat tugged, yowling triumphantly before running off with something clamped between her teeth. Absently, Olivia raised both hands up after the cat.

Only…

Ollie stared down at her one hand and then flicked her gaze to the slowly bleeding shoulder. Her fingers shook and Ollie looked up to the base of the stairs where the cat had dropped her other arm and was standing over it like the squirrels she sometimes brought to her father.

“Oh.” Ollie whispered at the cat. “Klap eens in je handjes, blij, blij, blij.”

Sarah Roger’s walked down the stairs, her uniform stained with blood. “Oliver Bakker, I hope you’re not expecting me to stitch that up.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she stepped over the cat.

Ollie’s shoulders curled inwards, and her hand came up to cover her face. “I’m sorry.” She whispered into the palm of her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“You left my boys behind.” Sarah said as she grabbed Ollie’s hand and forced it away from her face. “You left them behind.” The anger on Sarah’s face was plain to see, and for a moment, Ollie wondered if Sarah was finally going to snap and backhand her. Instead, the woman dropped her hand and took a small step back. “You go and get them back. You hear me? You go and get them back!”

Ollie shrunk back into the wall as Stick joined the shouting with a scream. Across from her, Oma Rood tilted the cross stitch around in her hands and raised her eyebrows when she caught Ollie’s eye.

88°30'06.5"N 62°20'53.2"W was stitched into the cloth that Ollie know realized was actually a map, and her Oma was staring at her with something akin to pride. “You always were good with numbers.” Oma murmured as Stick continued to scream from the stairs. “Don’t you remember?”

Ollie swallowed dryly and stared at the coordinates stitched with red thread. The plane. Steve and Bucky were safe as long as they were on the plane. When Ollie’s mother had called her to come see the appearance of Steve’s plane, Ollie had memorized the coordinates of the location by accident.

Howard would find them eventually.

In the background, Stick continued to scream.

…***…

Stick’s scream followed Ollie into reality as Ollie surged awake, forcing herself to sit up and lunge for the first thing that moved. She had to leave. She had to get out. The monster would never touch her again and Sarah would never forgive her if she didn’t find Steve and Bucky.

She had to go find Steve and Bucky.

Stick’s scream had cut off mid screech and as Ollie’s fingers tightened on the monster’s throat, she belated realized the scream was her own. The taste of blood coated her tongue and Ollie slammed the monster against the wall. The monster went limp in her hand and she dropped him with a curl of her lip. Concrete crumbled off the wall as Ollie stepped back and swung around. Staggering, she grabbed at the table and stared.

Her arm.

Oh gods.

Her _arm_.

It wasn’t just a dream.

She had lost her arm and the numbers on the other arm screamed at her in phantom memories.

Pausing, Ollie stared at the bloodstained bandages that wrapped around her shoulder and fought the urge to cry.

How was she going to be a sniper now?

How was she going to protect Steve and Bucky?

The door creaked open at the end of the room and the blood in Ollie’s veins froze. She shouldn’t have hesitated. She shouldn’t have waited. She should have kept going. She should have…

Pausing, Ollie stared at the forms spilling into the room, and she raised her single arm with a cut off sob. If she was going down, she was going down fighting. She wasn’t going with the Russian soldiers. She was a Bakker. She was a sniper. She was Carter’s agent. She was Steve’s brother, and she was Bucky’s best friend.

She was going to make it back to America damn the consequences.

...***...

Ollie never saw the hit that brought her to her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the song sung by Ollie is a dutch song that kind of similar to 'Ring Around the Rosie' or 'London Bridge is Falling Down'. There's an entire hand gesture/dance that goes with the song and little kids tend to sing it quite a bit. I sing it to my nephews just as my Oma and Opa sang it to me as a little kid.  
> Anyway, since I retained none of my bilingual status as I grew up, the dutch and English translation was taken from here: https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=1051  
> In English, the translation is approximately:  
> Clap your handsies,  
> Happy, happy, happy  
> Up on your devilish noggin,  
> Both handsies.  
> Handsies up high,  
> Handsies down on your hips.  
> That's how the boatsies pass by,  
> That's how the boatsies pass by.  
> Now, some of the actual words change due to region or how people remembered it, but this is the one that my family remembers it as. (My roommates and cousins know a different version but meh...)


	3. Newspapers and Obituaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!  
> Happy long weekend for those of you from the States.  
> Chapter 3 was posted yesterday but for some reason was not showing up as a 3rd chapter, therefore, i played around until it worked. Anyway, if you read this on 5-23-19, nothing has changed.
> 
> As always, enjoy, have fun, and please don't shoot me.

“You are American.”

The question washed over Ollie, dragging her back from the comfortable oblivion she had sank into. Had she not been challenging herself not to react, Ollie would have begun to snicker a good five questions prior. Three days of continued interrogation. Three days since the last surgery. Pain had become a constant companion, the ebb and flow of the ache helping her keep track of time. Ollie wasn't sure how she had managed to keep herself from reacting to some of the questions that had been asked of her, but this, this statement, was absurd. 

American.

They thought she was American.

The thought made her laugh.

North American perhaps, but her mother would murder her if she ever jumped the border and gave up her roots.

With her eyes still closed, Ollie tested the leather straps against her wrist and ankles. Between every surgery, there was some nameless individual throwing stupid questions at her. If she hadn’t answered for Zola, she certainly wasn’t going to answer this poor sod. By this point, it was a matter of pride.

“What is your mission?”

She’d flip him off, but she was lacking the necessary limb to do so.

Shifting, Ollie tried to find a comfortable position on the metal table. So far, the metal was being unaccommodating, but what else was new? The man, Dodo she had dubbed him, was in for the long game she had realized. Dodo knew Ollie wasn’t going to say anything, but Ollie knew he couldn’t hurt her between surgeries, or the ‘doctor’ would mutilate him the same way. That she learned from experience. So, Dodo and Ollie were at impasse. Dodo couldn’t get information and Ollie couldn’t get off the table or show any reaction. Any response would delay the surgery and break the routine that was keeping her sanity in a semblance of normalcy.

Keeping her eyes closed was doing nothing for her nerves, but gods she didn’t want to look at her arm. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t.

Her arm was gone.

Her arm was _gone_.

She was supposed to have died falling out of that train.

Olivia Bakker was supposed to be a corpse at the bottom of the ravine, but here she was.

Bucky and Steve wouldn’t leave her. Peggy and Howard would look for her body at least. Howard would insist on burying her with full honours. Holding back the smirk, Ollie did her best not to snort. That man was far too sentimental for his own good. Howard would push for her body to be recovered and when he came to get her. Ollie would spend the first ten minutes cursing him out for being late, and then she’d ask him to redo everything the Russians were doing to her shoulder, because the gods knew she wouldn’t let that piece of junk soldered into her bone stay where it was.

“You are a woman.” Like every other statement uttered by Dodo, each word was completely level and without emotion.

Had her eyes been open, Ollie would have speared Dodo with a glare. Apparently, he had run out of things to say if he was grasping for the obvious. Aside from a pair of light pants, Ollie was naked on the table. All it took was a set of eyes to understand that she was not exactly a typical male, but apparently it took a brain to understand that she wasn’t male at all.

Give Dodo a prize.

“Were your people so desperate, they would send a woman to do a man’s job?”

If Dodo was so desperate as to attempt to attack her honour, he was certainly going about it the wrong way. Ollie had survived this long precisely because of that thought process. Who would expect a woman doing a ‘man’s’ job? Besides, act flustered and rustle a few skirts, and Ollie could walk out of a German camp holding the personal number of the commandant and at least three secrets the Allies hadn’t decoded yet. If a man had attempted to do that, there would have been a lot more bullet holes. On top of all that, Ollie wasn’t overly attached to her pride. She had been hiding as a male in the thirties after all. If she had been attached to her pride, it would have come out when Andy put the bubble gum in her hair, a lifetime ago and a decades in the future.

Oh gods…

Andy.

Leo.

Mom.

Dad.

Her Opa had just been born. Her father wasn’t even an idea yet. She was…

Ollie was…

Ollie was alone.

That wasn’t a new idea, Ollie faintly reminded herself as she shoved the thought into the back of her mind. She had been a lone for a long time. Steve was as good as her brother for all she cared, but this was a different time. A different place. This wasn’t her home.

The small part of her that had held out thinking that when the train ride was over, she would be sent back home, shriveled up and died. The realization she was stuck in the past, wasn’t new. She had faced that fact with resignation every day but Ollie, foolishly, kept hoping.

Maybe today was the last day.

Maybe today was the day Ollie managed to wake up back in her bed back in Ontario. Maybe today was the day she would be able to see her parents again. Maybe today she could finally stop lying.

Instead Ollie was bound to a metal table, her missing arm screaming in pain, and forced to recognized today wasn’t that day. Today was the day she got to annoy Russians who had a hobby of poking limbs they certainly shouldn’t be allowed near.

Lovely.

“American.”

For a moment, Ollie wondered what he would do if she called him Russian.

Starlight exploded behind her eyelids and she rolled onto her side instinctively, pain blooming in her veins like garden weeds. Dodo had stabbed her, Ollie realized belatedly, her own pained panting sounding loud in her own ears. That was against the rules.

Glaring at a suspiciously dark spot on the floor, Ollie did her best to breathe through the sparking hellfire on her side, just below her ribs. Involuntarily, she braced for another hit, even as her head came to rest on the cool metal table. She didn’t have enough strength to fight back. She barely had enough strength to pull herself up right now, the surgeries wrecking hell on her system. After another heartbeat passed without Dodo commenting on her weakness, or another knife falling onto her side, Ollie twisted around enough to glare at Dodo, her teeth clenched. She wasn’t going to say a word. She wasn’t going to give Dodo that satisfaction, but gods it would be nice to curse him out.

Dodo raised an eyebrow as he raised a newspaper up into her field of vision. “I assume you can read.”

She shouldn’t look. It was only going to be lies, Ollie reasoned with herself. She shouldn’t look. Dodo wasn’t a kind captor and the gods knew Ollie wasn’t in the mood to be snippy or sassy. She was bleeding. She had a knife in her side.

But still, it would at least be amusing to know what the Russians thought to be so bloody important they would make a newspaper to try and break her. A newspaper. What could be so important about a newspaper?

On the other hand, Ollie thought dimly as the front page finally came into focus, maybe she should have just kept her eyes shut.

Ollie had forgotten, somewhere along the line, that Steve and Bucky didn’t make it out of the war. In some ways, she wanted to blame the fall from the train for the loss of that little fact, but she couldn’t. She knew they weren’t coming, that the only way they were going to stay safe was if they went down with the plane, but somewhere in between the pain and her own inability to die, Ollie had begun to hope that someone, anyone would come get her.

But with Steve and Bucky on ice and Peggy in mourning…

Ollie was alone.

No one was coming to get her.

Yet.

Howard would figure it out. He always did. Howard would save her. She just had to remember that.

“Your precious Captain America has died. No one will come get you now. You might as well give up.” Dodo’s voice was a soft croon and for the first time, Ollie thought about opening her mouth, if only to keep Dodo from using that tone of voice again.

Instead, Ollie slumped against the metal table, her eyes never leaving the paper, and beckoned Dodo closer. It was sickening the way Dodo’s face lit up but when he was close enough, Ollie beckoned for him to lean down to her. Smiling, Dodo leaned closer, and Ollie took great delight in slamming her forehead against his, sending him toppling back with a curse.

Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her throat, and Ollie let the laughter carry her away from the pain.

Steve and Bucky were in the ice. They were in the ice and no one could hurt them. They were together. She had completed her goal. They went down together. Now she could do whatever she wanted, and no one could use anyone against her.

The Russians had no idea that gift they had just given her.

Laying there on the table, staring up at the ceiling, laughter still bubbling up in her throat. Ollie resisted the urge to cry.

They had no idea the gift they had just given her.

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I HAVE FAN ART FOR THE MAIN SERIES!!!  
> Everyone, go check out leislingvoss138 and middle_school_doodles on Instagram, I promise you won't regret it!!!  
> Also...  
> *Evil Laughter*  
> Cliffhanger!!!


End file.
